


The Cost

by starlightarcher



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightarcher/pseuds/starlightarcher
Summary: Everything comes at a price. The only way to truly know this is to endure its cut. The story of Surana the mage, who became a Hero. A woman who felled armies, saved nations, and loved a good man.Rating will change at a later point. And character lists will be updated as necessary.





	1. Prologue and Epilogue

To: Senior Enchanter Wynne  
Circle Tower, Fereldan

Greetings to you, my dear friend,  
I beg your forgiveness for not writing sooner; things here have been chaotic. Thank you for your last letter. It is always good to hear from you, even if the news is troubling. All we hear from the north seems bad of late. “Perhaps it is simply their turn?” as Leliana would say. I would ask why there can be no lasting peace in this world, but as those wiser than me have said "such questions have no true answer, and will drive you to madness." You were right to tell me so. Between Tevinter’s never-ending war and Kirkwall’s self-inflicted chaos, now it seems as though the Orlesians press to recover their lost territory. Maker grant our king the strength to resist.

You were right about that too, you know. I even knew it at the time. But youth is nothing if not stubborn. I am no longer quite so young, though it appears I haven’t lost all the flaws of my youth. If things continue as they seem, we will need all our resolve. Yet, even with the intervening years, the struggle against bitterness is a daily one, and at times a singularly painful one. But, it is the road I chose, so I must not shrink from walking it to the very end. 

In the loudest silences of the night, I sometimes wonder if all the accomplishments were worth the cost of their making. Yet one more thing I learn with the years - that one cannot foretell how badly the price will cut you. I made ugly choices to spare others the agony of living with them. I believed I was strong enough to bear any cost, never comprehending how some sacrifices must be made daily, even hourly. 

There was an old Avvar saying about pain laboring long hours to give birth unto wisdom. And these past years I have ample opportunity to grow wise indeed. Yet even tallying the price, I still find that I would still choose to pay it. Some things are worth more than comfort. This I have heard and this I have even spoken. I do not regret any of it, save the friendships withered and lost along the way. Another innocence of youth gone.

Thank you again for your letter. Any news you can spare of the College is welcome. I may no longer be bound to a Circle, but this matter is dear to my heart. Would that I could share equal news of our efforts here, but I am forbidden by those in Weisshaupt. It seems we must ever submit to the will of our superiors. What I can do is ask you to pray for us my friend. You still believe, so perhaps your prayers will still be heard. The stars portend evil days to come, and I fear they are too right. Change comes swiftly, usually without consent, but never silently, and it seems we now stand at the knife’s edge of it. My thoughts are with you Wynne, and with our brethren in Kirkwall.

Maker keep you my friend.

Given at Vigil’s Keep  
9:36 Dragon


	2. That Which Came Before

Kinloch Hold, 9:11 Dragon

"Oh Maker!" the little elvin girl cried.

Her father and uncles used such words before, and they never seemed afraid of anything. She craned her head back, trying to see the top of the great spire as it stretched angrily toward the sky. Yet, though they stood at the top of the embankment, the angle was so steep that she nearly toppled backward. Her mouth had fallen open and she stared in open wonder and fear.

"You invoke the name of the Maker?" one of the armed man asked her sharply. His face was clouded over, like a thunder storm. But, the little girl appeared not to have heard him at all.

"Peace," another man in the company said, cutting across any further words. 

Of the three men, Ser Marcus felt that he had the most objective of views. Clearly Ser Naren had been an bad choice for this mission. His hatred of magic and those who could work it was nearly palpable. He had been glowering at the girl ever since they left the city, nearly a fortnight ago. And the other, Ser Baynard, was the opposite. For at the moment, the little girl was tucked safely in his arms. One of her own was round his neck, steadying herself as she leaned back to further gape at the tower. Much of the journey had been spent in his arms actually.

Her little legs had given out much earlier in the day and Baynard had offered to carry her, as he usually did. Perhaps it was coddling, but rather that than lose more time in their journey. As the days wore on, she was able to cover more ground without tiring, a sign she was certainly hardy. No doubt that this was the longest trek she had ever made, but she was adapting in the way that only children were able.

Still, Marcus frowned to himself. Baynard had taken an almost fatherly interest in the little girl, and Marcus wondered if his shield brother harbored some secret desire for children of his own. Of course it could simply be the girl herself. The taking of children, especially the doll-like elvin ones, often left strong impressions on their escorts. Marcos knew he himself wasn't immune; in the way his frown twisted with guilt whenever he looked at her. He shook his head, clearing such thoughts, and turned his eyes toward the Tower. Another half-turn of the glass and their journey would be done; the thoughts of rest and succor a pleasant draw to hurry their feet.

The little one was oblivious to all around her though. They'd awoken her as they had made the approach to the banks of Lake Calenhad. The last bit of Ferelden she would see for a very long time, if perhaps ever. Like all the other children who had come there before her, the little girl had gasped aloud, clearly dazzled at the sight of it. Her eyes reflecting the usual wonder and fear the place inspired.

"Is that a castle?" she asked in her treble voice.

It had taken a few days, but she seemed to have ceased crying for her mother. Once her tears had spent themselves, she had been a fairly quiet child. 

"In a way child, yes it is," Baynard told her as he shifted her small weight in his arms. "It is a castle of learning."

The three men and their charge trooped down the steep hill to the water's edge. The humid air made their skin itch around the leather bindings, and the press of summer held the smell of mud and water rot close to their faces.

"How tall is it?" she asked her companion.

"I don't know," Baynard answered honestly.

They were standing on the docks, waiting as Marcus showed some papers to the boatman.  
"I think I preferred her better when all she did was cry," Ser Naren grumbled, the dying evening light gleamed off his polished plate.

"She is simply curious," Baynard replied, unconsciously shifting to shield the child with his body.

"Well she'll have plenty of time to find out later, won't she? Seeing how she's never gonna leave," Ser Naren snapped at the pair of them.

The little girl dropped her eyes from the building and turned to Ser Baynard, her whole face frightened.   
"What's he mean?" her voice trembled as she spoke.

"You're going to live here now Anyia," he told her kindly, "with the mages. The Maker has given you magic and you’ll grow up to be a mage someday."

Her eyes, which took up most of her small face, flashed with a strange look that made his heart ache. "I’ll never see my family again. I wonder if they’ll forget all about me.” 

"The mages will be your family now," Baynard replied. Marcos privately thought her her strange intuition would likely come true. Many families couldn’t bear the pain or shame of producing a mage child, and often treated the magling as though it had died young.

"Let's go," the Templar called, before Baynard could speak any comfort to her.

The three men clambered onto the boat, with Anyia was still tucked safely in the Templar's arms. She didn't look around any longer, yet only stared away into the middle distance. Tears were on her face, but she made no noise, like a wounded animal that fears to draw further notice.

"Careful how you coddle her," Ser Naren warned. "We may have to hunt her one day."

"She's only a child," Marcus finally spoke up. She had behaved well and been obedient to them in all things. "If that day comes brother it will be a long way off. There is no harm in comforting the broken hearted, or have you forgotten your sorrow when you were taken away for your training? Our lady Andraste would comfort the broken-hearted, mage child or no." The rest of the journey was made in silence.

At the far water's edge, the four departed and began clambering up the large wet, rock hewn steps. The land rose steeply enough that it was slow going for the child, and the two lagged a bit.

“Up you get little one,” Baynard scooped her into his arms once more. He caught his brothers up quickly with his longer stride.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

Even from her elevated height, Anyia was awestruck by the doors. They stood twice the height of those on the Denerim chantry! Ser Marcus pounded his fist twice upon the wood that looked as solid as stone. The sound echoed within, reverberating like a giant bell. Yet, when they opened a moment later, there was no sound other than the slight huff of the men who hefted them. Gently Ser Baynard put her back on her feet.

“These last steps you take yourself my girl,” he said quietly. Without thinking, she reached up and grasped his hand tightly. For the Templars flanking the doors were helmed, and appeared as though they were animated armor, with no person within.

The whole fortnight past had seen very little other than Templars and Sisters and Chantries. They must've stayed at every single one between here and Denerim by then. She was sick to death of Chantries at this point. And perhaps with the exception of Ser Baynard and Ser Marcus, she was sick to death of Templars. When she’d lived at home, she’d never given much thought to Templars. An alienage child had other concerns- like the City Guard, or nobles, or any of the other shems. The Templars were usually only found within the Chantry grounds and her family only went there but rarely. It had never occurred to any of them that one day she might become far more familiar with them. A number of the Sisters had offered to come along and care for her. A few of them even did for a time, journeying with them as far as the next town, or perhaps the next two. But none of them were ever able to make the entire journey. Anyia had tired of their fussing quickly, and had taken to ignoring them as best as possible.

"We bring a child from Denerim," Ser Marcus announced to seemingly no one and everyone. Someone was sent on ahead, into the deeper reaches of the tower, while they were led to a chamber slightly partitioned off from the rest of the grand entry way. Anyia shivered a little, feeling the cold of the stone begin to creep into her feet.

"Another elf," she heard someone mutter.

Her heart lifted for a moment. Perhaps there were many elves here. Perhaps some of them were from home! Perhaps they were people she knew! 

In the next heartbeat, Anyia noticed they had been joined by two people. Their appearance had been so quiet and so sudden it was as if they'd been conjured from thin air. A young woman, probably younger than her mother, in a lovely blue robe, and a young man with gray lightly threaded through his dark hair stood just in the entry way. Neither of them were elves, and she ducked behind Ser Baynard's legs.  
The woman smiled in her direction. "She certainly is young," she observed to the man beside her.   
He frowned slightly before nodding his agreement.

"Hello there dear," the woman squatted to her height, "may we see you?" she asked.

Ser Baynard's extended hand drew her forward, and Anyia looked down at her shoes, which were covered in dried mud. She suddenly felt very dirty.

"Aren't you lovely," the woman commented quietly. "What's your name?"

At the question Anyia looked up at the pair of them, and blinked in surprise. The air around the shem seemed to shimmer and ripple, like he was alight of fire, yet not consumed. Anyia blinked once more, it felt as though she was fighting against the great weight of heavy sleep. She turned her head this way and that, trying to catch the colors that played along the rippling edges

"Anyia Surana," she said distractedly, opening staring at the man, trying to determine what she was seeing.

The mage and the child continued to regard each other for another silent moment before he spoke.

"Well well," he murmured, almost to himself. "Apprentice Joyclyn, take her to find some food, and a bath I think. I shall inform the First Enchanter of the news," he said before turning and leaving.

Anyia was rooted to the spot, still holding tight to Ser Baynard's hand when the man looked away, and she suddenly felt tired, like she’d raced around the entire market.

"Anyia, would you like to something to eat? You can come with me if you'd like," the woman held out her hand, drawing the girl's attention to her. The little elf stared at the offered hand, as though seriously considering the offer before she finally nodded her head, released her companion’s hand and wandered over to the apprentice.

"Goodbye little one," Ser Baynard smiled sadly after her.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

It was strange that he should feel so great a loss at her leaving. She was not his child, and yet somehow he knew he would not lightly forget her. He had not realized how much he wanted a daughter till he'd met her.

"I won't see you again," she said with the uncanny timbre in her voice. Yet her eyes looked confused.

"No my dear, I must go home," he told her gently, kneeling down to look into her eyes.

It surprised him when she ran forward and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"Goodbye Ser," she told him.

He was stunned into stillness for a second, before he hugged her in return. "This is for you," he said, drawing a doll from his pack and handing it to her. A small cloth doll with a flower print dress and yellow yarn hair. Anyia's eyes grew to bursting with delight. She pulled the doll to her chest, squeezing it with glee.

"That is very kind," the woman Joyclyn said. "And how do you reply?" she asked.

"Thank you Ser Baynard," Anyia said beaming at him.

"You are welcome child," he told her, with a strange look in his eye. "Be a good girl and study hard," he admonished her, like a father would.

Ser Marcus clapped his friend on the shoulder, indicating it was time to follow their comrade to the Templar quarters.

That evening Joyclyn led Anyia through seemingly endless stone halls and stairways until they entered a large chamber. It was piled from the floor to the vaulted ceiling above, which was lost in darkness. There were more books than Anyia had ever seen in her life. She was frightened, and with one hand held tight to Joyclyn and the other clutched her new dolly tight to her. She was so lost in gaping at the room, that Anyia didn't pay attention to who was present. Joyclyn rapped on the open door before they crossed the threshold. There were more Templars, but none of her companions. The shimmering man was there as well. And in the middle stood the most wrinkled and wizened old shemlin she'd ever set eyes on. Anyia's eyes had been darting everywhere but they came to an absolute standstill when they landed on the man in the center of the room. He was even older than the Hahren!

"Let us see this child," his voice sounded far younger than his face made him appear.

Joyclyn lead her forward, but Anyia tried to stay as close as possible to her skirts.

"They seem to get younger every year," the old man murmured. "Come here my girl, do not fear me."  
Anyia felt oddly compelled to obey the genial voice. She flicked quick glances at him, the others that lingered and the door. After a while, the old shem caught her eye and Anyia found it nearly impossible to look away, fixating on the way the light moved around him, rather than his frightening face.

"Yes Irving, I see what you mean," the First Enchanter commented after a few heartbeats of looking at the girl. "And how was she discovered?" he asked. His face turned in the direction of a Templar, but his eyes never broke their contact with her own. Finally he dropped them to read the papers Ser Marcus had carried all the way from Denerim. After a moment he chuckled slightly.

"Oh my! Well...she is quite young," his tone was allowing.

"First Enchanter?" someone questioned.

"Nothing," he replied, smiling slightly, "the gift sits well on our new apprentice. And I believe she will be a credit to this Circle."

"Now, come here child. Your name is Anyia Surana?" he asked.

She nodded her reply, something felt wrong and her fear mounting.

"We are glad you have come to us Anyia," he told her. "You will study magic with us. But first we need something of yours." The girl tightened her grip on the doll, and the old man chuckled gently. "No my dear, not that. We must have some of your blood."

She shrank back toward Joyclyn at the word.

"Do not worry Anyia," the human woman soothed. "You shall sleep and when you awaken it will be over and done, with no memory."

Fear was clawing its way up her throat, and she was trying to work up a good scream. Yet no sounds came from her. She felt Joyclyn's fingers running through her hair, soothing much like her mother did at bedtime. It seemed like half a lifetime ago that happened. Anyia could feel the fuzzy warmth of sleep wrap itself around her.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

The girl hung limply in the apprentice’s arms as she slept on. The traces of healing magic were disappearing over the wound. And the phylactery had been sealed in the usual ritual.

“Let her sleep with you tonight,” a matronly woman instructed, “in case she awakens.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joyclyn nodded lifting the tiny weight of the girl and carried her away.

Once all the others had left, Irving turned to the First Enchanter. "She is quite young," he commented.

"Yes she is," the old man replied serenely, a satisfied light in his eye.

"Is it right to take them so young?"

"You know as well as I, Irving that when the gift presents itself, removal is the safest option. And when they are as young as she, it is a necessity," he handed Irving the parchment, smiling almost impishly. 

The younger mage quickly read what was written there. "Holy Maker!" he cried.

"Indeed," the old man laughed. "It seems we shall have to keep both eyes on her."


	3. Like Any Other

The Tower of the Circle of Magi, Kinloch Hold, Fereldan, 9:30 Dragon

The winds that blew across the great expanse of the lake should have been enough to cool despite the humidity of the air; however, the impossibly high walls of the garden cut them off from all save the most persistent of breezes. Anyia wiped her wrist across her brow and tried to keep her mind on her work. Enchanter Cera might not be a Master Botanist like Senior Enchanter Ines, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think herself the same. Yet, for all the woman’s self-styled grandeur, it was easy to see that the students were all marking time until they could retreat back within the chilled stone walls of the tower. Even her partner Evelina had given up and was trying to charm her pruning shears into dancing on the workbench.

“I heard Cullen’s in love with you,” the woman at her other elbow, Terra, whispered.  
Petra, who was partnering her, coughed to disguise a giggle.  
Anyia blanched slightly, feeling a bit blindsided. “You’re daft,” she hissed back a second later.  
“So I’m a liar then?” Terra challenged.  
“No,” Anyia shook her head, pretending to trim a few wilting leaves from the plants underside. “It’s just… Cullen? It’d be easier to believe if you said Eadric or even Ser Bran, but Cullen? He wouldn’t risk his shield for a fancy.”  
“Love is hardly a fancy,” Evelina remarked.  
“It’s because he’s human, isn’t it?” Terra pressed.  
“Hardly,” Anyia scoffed; surprised to notice that she was the only elf of the four of them. “He’s nice enough looking. I hadn’t given it thought though.”   
She wrinkled her nose, turning the image of Cullen over in her mind a few times. True, he was rather well favored, especially compared to some of the others who looked closer to man-shaped mabari.  
“And now that you have?” one of the girls asked.  
She shrugged. “He’s just so, so…” she wasn’t sure what word went there.  
“Timid?” “Frigid?” “Prudish?” “Skittish?” Terra and Evelina tossed adjectives back and forth like drably colored balls.  
“Prim?” Petra finally offered.  
“If ever there was a word,” Anyia finally spoke up.  
“Well you’re hardly one to talk,” Terra jibed at her.  
“There’s a difference between being prim and being discerning,” she defended, her hackles rising to their ribbing. “Though I would hardly say no to a Saturnalia kiss from say…Anders?”  
“Anders! But he’s practically an apostate!” Petra hissed, clearly scandalized.  
“All the more reason to kiss’em now I say,” Terra weighed in.  
“It’s just a kiss, I’m hardly looking to ‘go round the corner’ with him,” Anyia felt her cheeks flush at the use of the Tower’s latest favorite innuendo.  
“Guess it depends on the kiss, doesn’t it?” Terra said.  
“A little less chatter ladies if you please!” Enchanter Cera barked in their direction, and they fell to a furious silence, each pretending to work dutifully. The sound of snipping sheers and scratching quills was all there was to be heard for a few moments.  
“Well, so long as we’re mentioning festival kisses, Jowen’s been looking rather well lately,” Evelina murmured.  
The others tittered a bit, but Anyia shook her head. “Don’t bother. He told me he ‘met a girl’ recently. Maker knows exactly what he’s on about,” she muttered the rest to herself.  
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?!” Evelina asked. Anyia shrugged her reply.  
“He didn’t elaborate, and no, he wouldn’t tell me who it was.”

_Anyia could understand her friend’s indignation. Relationships weren’t done in the Tower. She’d heard stories of mages run to madness and demonic possession when their attachments had been exploited. She’d even witnessed it once, when the Templars took Sorielle’s baby. That girl had been the exemplar apprentice- always so calm and controlled. Yet at that moment, when the babe had first stretched its lungs, Anyia had felt the danger. Sorielle had climbed from her child-bed, still draped in the bloody sheets and began screaming for her baby. Before their eyes she’d shifted and become the horror that stalked their nightmares. The end had been swift and pitiless, and Anyia could sometimes still hear the screams in her nightmares. No, love was a game, and intimacy an indulgence never allowed. Passion was quick and fleeting. Emotion kept firmly in check at all cost. For Jowen to have begun an attachment with someone was so daft it was like suggesting that Andraste had been a magister in disguise!_

“But he tells you everything!” Evelina hissed, drawing her mind back to the moment.  
“No he doesn’t; not anymore anyway,” she muttered.  
“True, he has been a bit more sullen since you began taking lessons with Irving,” Terra noted.  
Anyia nodded and blinked in the direction of her blood lotus, trying to halt the tears that she could feel threatening.  
“How are those lessons?” Petra asked.  
“Exhausting,” she whispered. “I think I’m the youngest there. They all watch like they’re waiting for me to do something stupid.”  
“Irving must think you’ve got potential. He only trains a handful of students a year.” Petra smiled at her.  
Anyia shrugged once more, trying not to think about the antics which had landed her in lessons far beyond her depth. Remembering gave her such a headache.

_The library was one of the best places within the Tower. In the afternoon great arcs of sunlight would invade the place through the tall slim windows, bathing the room in brilliant crimson and yellow light, each dust mote in magnified relief. Hardly surprising that so many tomes attracted so much dust. What was a wonder was that none had invented a spell to magic the place clean. That day it had smelled of leather and dust, wood smoke and the indescribable tang of fear. Fire spells always did that, and that evening was no different. She’d gone to the library in search of a book, but her purpose was forgotten as she watched Humbert attempt to light another pit. Her fingers trailed absently along the spines, as she watched him gather his meager courage to attempt the spell. The poor clod was just so afraid of hurting himself that as usual the fire, reacting to his emotions, had blazed with his terror and begun to spread like an inferno._

_Anyia didn’t really remember when she’d noticed the boy or had realized his immediate danger. She didn’t remember racing to pull him away until her hand had closed around his wrist. One second she’d been at a safe distance, the next she was yanking the terrified child behind her and was staring their imminent death in the face. Later they told her that she’d conjured a dome of ice to shield them, and it sounded reasonably plausible. Her memory of those moments had been nothing but a haze of fear and adrenaline. The mana had pounded through her veins like a mantra of “need to keep safe.” She’d felt the flames lick against her conjured shell, trying to melt their way through and kill them both. Though her strength had been flagging, the assault had shocked her and she’d pulled deeper on her reserves, trying to freeze the world out._

_Of course, being unpracticed at sustained spells, she’d given no though on how to hold the shield and her consciousness both. Apparently when she’d slipped into the Fade, the dome had shattered into a million ice shards. They’d found her slumped over the boy, shielding him still. Eadric and Jowen had recounted beat by beat how the Senior Enchanters had rushed her to the laboratory and worked frantically to revive her. The one part of the ordeal she recalled vividly was being given lyrium for the first time. She remembered the metallic kick at the back of her throat, and how her tongue had felt coated with a film of the stuff for days afterward. Worse yet was the way it had made her head reel, like the Tower was being tossed about by golems. More than once her innards had rebelled and forced the foreign substance back out of her, violently._

_It had taken two days with a sleeping draught before she’d begun to feel better. But the real surprise had come a sennight later, when her mentor Enchanter Kevarn had told her of First Enchanter Irving’s plan for her to join his advanced class. That had been a shock, considering that Irving taught five students a year, at most. Seats at his lessons were badly coveted and jealously guarded things, and Anyia knew she shouldn’t have been eligible for at least another two years. Once she’d learned of the placement, she’d been prepared for some backlash, but not the scale of Jowen’s frigid response. She’d expected him to sulk for a few days, a week at most. Strong emotions, but lustful or resentful couldn’t be indulged in for long. With so many people living in close quarters, there simply wasn’t room for long grudges. You dealt with your feelings, and then got over it. That’s how Tower life was! But Jowen had practically become a stranger to her; anytime she’d tried to speak to him he’d been distant and vague. The treatment had stung badly. Jowen had been her first and closest friend when she’d first come to the Tower. Anyia had meant to try speaking with him more, to salvage something, but her workload had more than doubled overnight. Irving’s class was hardly called advanced on a whim, and she was barely keeping abreast with all of it. In fact it felt like she’d been running in place for the better part of the past eight months!_

She sighed, absently noting that Enchanter Cera was calling the class to an end. She scribbled down the assignment for their next class, and headed back inside to resume her research. Her thoughts on Jowen’s sullenness would have to hold for another day.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

Anyia squinted and scowled at the runes that wavered on the page. Her eyes strained once more, and what had started as a mild headache was now a steady pounding just behind her right eye. She frowned and absently rubbed her eye, before returning to the last few stubborn lines before her. Though no one asked, she thought Arcanum to be one of the most ludicrously written languages, but then again- no one had asked. Anyia sighed and tried to focus on the task before her, rather than fret over the mountain of other projects still to be done. The sound of the dinner chime did little to ease her headache, though it was a great excuse for a break, and perhaps food would help.

“At last she emerges. We thought you'd died in the library under a pile of tomes,” Finn teased as she dropped heavily into a seat amidst the others. "I had the most charming eulogy prepared for you, my dear."  
“Ungh,” she mumbled in return, furiously rubbing her eyes. It was tempting to rest her head; perhaps what she needed was a nap rather than food.  
“Chin up lovie,” he cajoled, “It gets better eventually.” 

Finn had passed his Harrowing three months prior, and was entrenched in the smug relief all newly minted mages enjoyed for the first year or so.  
“Would that be before or after I set your insufferable arse on fire?” she deadpanned.  
There were a few barked laughs and even Finn had to chuckle a bit as the food arrived. Anyia ate rather thoughtlessly, barely aware of her surroundings. It sounded as though a number of the boys were continuing a debate over some transmutation theory. Any other time she might’ve been interested enough to join in, but her flagging energy turned the conversation into white noise.  
She was jolted from her stupor by a rather bony elbow jabbed into her side. Evelina was giving her a look and subtly tilting her head. She must’ve been extra tired, because the silent message was indecipherable. When she cocked a curious eyebrow her friend had the gall to roll her eyes. The woman repeated the motion, and flicked her eyes deliberately to the table clear across the hall, where the Templars ate.

Anyia followed her gaze, and noticed that Cullen sat among them. She looked back at Evelina sharply, the conversation from herbology coming back into sharp focus. Anyia frowned at her friend and forced the flush climbing her neck back down. Of course that wasn’t the end of it. Her friends’ words came back loud and clear, and Anyia found herself examining Cullen from the corner of her eye while she ate and decided her memory of his looks hadn’t been accurate. Though the plate hid everything interesting, his face was very pleasing, and she half-smiled at the idea of running her fingers through his hair.

_Like most Templars he’d just appeared one day about two years ago, the newest guard dog of the order. They’d each been in the library, about their own business. She’d looked up at the sound of clanking plate to see the stranger gazing at the forest of bookshelves. Anyia remembered finding it odd, as the young man hadn’t been helmed. The sun had finally emerged after days of oppressive gray, and quite suddenly he’d been bathed in the most brilliant light she’d ever seen. The way his armor gleamed made her feel nostalgic and vulnerable all of a sudden. She’d returned to her books silently, trying to quell the feeling of tears. It wasn’t till months later that she even heard his name. And just like most other Templars, he never spoke to any of the mages. One odd thing though, Anyia noticed that he seemed to pay close attention to their lessons, which was quite frankly astounding, considering their opinion on all things magic. But Cullen truly seemed as focused on their education as any apprentice did. Occasionally, she’d felt the tingle of eyes upon her- and not the usual scrutiny of most Templars. It had felt different, curious and hesitant and something else- something complicated. Anytime she did happen to catch him looking she gave him a cautious nod in return._

_Their actual meeting had been fairly unconventional, even by Tower standards. It had been just after she’d begun studying with Irving; his lessons were always thorough and exhausting. Anyia had felt weak-kneed as she walked back toward the apprentice’s quarters. In fact, she felt more than weak, she was lightheaded and dizzy. The halls spun around her chaotically. Anyia knew her vision was going dark, but just the same, she had been confused when her eyes opened again and she finally registered the cold stone floor under her back. It had taken a moment for her vision to clear, but eventually she noticed the Templars Cullen and Ferris standing over her and discussing her status in hushed anxious tones._  
"She's coming around," one of the voices said.  
She heard someone groan, probably herself, as her vision sharpened and the room's spinning slowed.  
“What’s your name mage?" the older Templar asked.  
"Anyia," Cullen volunteered, and Anyia blinked owlishly at his ready knowledge of it.  
"What were you doing up here?" Cullen asked her.  
"Lessons with the First Enchanter," she mumbled, her tongue felt as dry as an old sock.  
"Maker, what is he teaching you?" the older man asked angrily.  
She tried to shake her head, but found that she had very little strength and what little she has was needed as she began struggling to sit.  
"I just need to rest," she was finally able to croak.  
The elder Templar looked at her long and critically before he nodded.   
"Cullen, take her back to Torrin," the man ordered. He stood to his feet, looking as if he had handled something dirty.  
"Can you walk?" Cullen asked her as he cupped a hand beneath her elbow and pulled her to her feet.  
"Yes, for now," she replied. "It may not last."  
Cullen walked just beside her, watching her from the side of his eyes.  
"You really don't look well," he finally spoke.   
She wanted to laugh; at least he had the decency to look sorry for such a bald statement.  
"I'm just tired," she said, wincing at the stitch in her side and panting slightly from the simple exertion.  
She stumbled and he caught her arm before she could fall.   
"There's nowhere you could rest here?"  
The man truly looked worried for her, and Anyia felt a swell of gratitude toward him.  
"These rooms are for the mages," she said, rather breathlessly. "They wouldn’t like it if an apprentice slept here."  
"What on earth were you doing?" he asked, his hand still under her arm, holding her up.  
"Magic," she replied and he rolled his eyes.  
"It’s tiring. Imagine if you had just run from the bottom of the Tower straight to the top in only a moment. You would be as weary as I am now," she explained as she grasped his gauntlet to keep her balance.  
"And you're not given lyrium yet are you?" he began to nod.  
"No, it isn't something for the apprentices,” she explained, feeling her stomach roll at just the thought.  
"I have a little," he gestured toward his pack, "if it will help you,"  
"Thank you Cullen," she smiled gratefully, "but I shouldn't. We'd both get in trouble," she said as her head began to droop forward.  
Instead of waiting for her to topple over, he’d reached down, scooped her up and began carrying her.  
"Don't be silly," her speech was slurring, "I can walk."  
"If you tried that on the stairs, you'd tumble face first to the very lake," he chuckled, almost sounding giddy.  
She grumbled slightly.  
"Just go to sleep you stubborn woman," he told her. "You can thank me later."  
Without any further argument, Anyia let go and fell backward into the yawing darkness of sleep that pulled at her mind. 

Anyia felt a grin tug at her cheek. After such a beginning, well, a friendship had come easily. He would often ask her questions when he was on duty in the library, and she always greeted him when they passed once another in the halls. The other apprentices had expressed shock and even some outrage that she treated him so cordially. But it had felt natural to do so. Truth told it was often easy to forget that Cullen was a Templar. Anyia frowned to herself, thinking back over all the times she and Cullen had spoken. True he behaved far more friendly than the majority of Templar’s she’d met, and he was a far cry from some of the others, who leered disgustingly at them. But didn’t friends treat each other pleasantly? Did that have to mean something torrid? 

She gnawed on her bottom lip, trying to sort out her swarming thoughts. She’d lived in the Tower for seemingly ever, and while she never had to worry of winding up like Sorielle, she had had her share of heated touches and stolen moments with her fellow mages. Frowning she returned to her meal, not certain how she felt anymore. The man was a Templar, and that would be courting the worst sort of folly. Besides, she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just gossip. Rumors spread about the Tower like wildfire. Maker knew there were precious few frivolities to indulge. With a final glance in his direction, Anyia finished and made to leave with the others. She still had a mountain of work to do, and didn’t need a handsome Templar to distract her.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

The chapel was a drafty place, but mercifully quiet at that moment, which was exactly what her overcrowded mind needed. Anyia shivered slightly, though whether from the cold or shock she couldn’t say. It was astonishing to think that only a turn of the glass ago she’d been mulling over a supposed infatuated Templar, and now she was fretting over inquiries and reprecussions!

Senior Apprentice Faron had been hazing the elvin children again, and as his hand rose to strike the little girl something inside her had snapped. She’d called up spell after spell, and his cronies had dropped like a pair of delicate flowers. Unfortunately he was harder to fell, even though she’d hit him square in the back of the head with one bolt.  
He’d rounded on her, baring his teeth like a savage beast.  
“Not so amusing when someone hits back, is it?” she snarled.  
“Sod off, yours’ll come later.”  
“Pick on something your own intelligence, like the compost heap,” she returned frostily.  
“Knife ear’d bitch,” he spat. “Fine, you want your thrashing now, I’ll oblige.”

Thankfully she’d managed to draw him away from the little girl, but now she had to contend with his advance. As a human, he was at least a head and a half taller than her, and outweighed her twice over. She had to stop him before he was within arm’s reach. Mage though he was, Faron seemed to forget they could duel at a distance and continued to advance as though he planned to grind her into the floor. The other apprentices gathered in a ring, jeering or encouraging in turn. As he pressed forward, Anyia shot an arc of electricity which caught him in the chest. Her jaw had fallen open as she watched him twitch and flail, yet even that only slowed marginally. She reached out with a grasping motion and watched as frost enveloped him, further slowing his progress. Murder was evident in his eyes, and Anyia bit the inside of her cheek, knowing she had one spell that would surely stop him but also terrified to use it. The tome had called it the Walking Bomb and it sounded fatal. Death wasn’t something that set well with her, but she also had a strong desire to survive the encounter.

“What the Void is going on here?” a booming voice had shouted. They’d all frozen, like rabbits caught in a torch light. Anyia cringed at the sight of Knight-Captain Samuel, Gergoir’s right hand man. Senior Enchanter Torrin was hard on the man’s heels.   
"Well, anyone?" the Templar demanded.  
“The Knight-Captain asked you a question,” Torrin addressed the crowd.  
"Faron attacked Kelvi," Jowen finally spoke up. "Anyia was defending her."  
Anyia felt the weight of all eyes on her in that moment.  
"Nariah," Torrin’s voice was sharp with fear, "Is what Jowen says true?"  
The girl looked between the combatants and the senior mage, clearly frightened. "Yes, Enchanter, it is," her whisper was barely audible.  
A very silent moment stretched on an eternity.  
"Very well," Torrin finally said, crossing his arms. “You three will come with me,” he pointed an accusing finger at Faron and his cronies.  
“The Knight-Commander will need to hear of this,” he said looking meaningfully as Torrin.  
His meaning was clear; there would likely be an inquiry.

That news had settled in her gut like a stone, and her feet had carried her away from that place. Even though there was still a frightful amount of work to be done, her mind was too chaotic to concentrate even on her steps. It was sometime later she’d emerged from her stupor and noticed she was in the chapel. The First Enchanter found her some time later.

As he sat, Anyia tried not to flinch. Irving almost never raised his voice, and more often that not it made his displeasure that much worse.  
"To hear the way some tell it, you defended a helpless child. And from others, you attacked a trio of your brethren from behind, without honor or provocation." 

"Faron's no brother of mine. Mage or no, he's a sadist. Little better than the worst of the Templars. Everyone knows what he does to the children, yet none of you lift a hand, because you're waiting for him to be stupid. And while you're waiting, elves are being harmed and are terrified to sleep," she spat. "Did I attack him from behind? Yes. Is that without honor? Perhaps. But look at the bruises painted on the children, and tell me in seriousness there is no provocation. As it is, I will likely be attacked in my sleep. Perhaps tonight, perhaps this week, perhaps in a year. And if I am not raped, I'll be beaten so badly I wish I had been," she said finally turning to look at him. "He will likely have the help of a Templar happy to mete out violence on a mage, or an elf."

Irving looked at her sadly, knowing everything she said was true. Enchanter Wynne had come to him all too frequently, complaining of elvin children with injuries and tears. He knew the boy had supporters among the Templars, and thus any move against him could have strong backlash against the rest of the students. He knew that he'd thrown the boy into confinement, and that some of the Templars were baying for her blood as well.

"Answer me just this, my girl," he said. "You knew how to kill him then, didn't you? You knew such a spell, and yet you stayed your hand. Is this not true?"

Her quick breath was his answer, but she cut her gaze away. Anyia didn't know how Irving had learned of her spells, neither those she used nor those she had learned. Yet somehow he must've known.

"Do you want him dead?" Irving asked.  
"I want a Tower without him. I don't want to fear attack in my sleep from my fellows as well as the Templars," she said bitterly. "But do I want to kill him? No, I wanted none of what happened today. But I will also not close my eyes any longer."

Irving nodded, understanding the complexity of her answer better than she thought he did. The Tower had been his home far longer than hers, and understood its tensions all too well.  
"Thank you, for your honesty. It may be difficult to understand, but I share your frustration in this matter."  
Anyia looked at him carefully.  
"My punishment?" she asked.  
"That has yet to be determined," he answered. For while he may wish he could shield her, she would have to answer in some way. Despite his wishing to reward her instead.  
He gestured to one of the Enchanters to escort her back to her dormitory.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

As he entered his study, Irving noticed a note left for him. He quickly tore open the plain wax seal. It felt as though the lines of age and worry deepened as he read. For all that their Tower sheltered and caged them from the horrors in the world, it seemed their sanctuary was about to be beset by the troubles of mortals. The whispers of raids that had been trickling up from the south were finally confirmed. It appeared at though that most deadly of all horrors, a Blight of Darkspawn was upon them. Irving closed his eyes, for a despondent moment. The Circle had already heeded the call of the king in the recent fortnight. Many of the Senior Enchanters had left to join the King’s massing army, apparently their contribution had not been sufficient. Duncan the Gray Warden would be arriving the following day. As he reread the hurried scrawl, his mouth lifted into a grim smile of sorts. There of course could be another reason why Duncan would visit, and Irving knew he would comply with his old friend’s wishes, though it might break his heart to do so. He paused a few heartbeats, though it might seem a reward to some, he thought it might accomplish a great deal in one stroke.

A moment or so later Knight-Commander Gregoir entered the chamber, his expression angry that the apprentices had been fighting with magic.   
"Irving, if you can't control your mages," he began spluttering.  
"Nothing to fuss over Gregoir, the situation has been dealt with," the First Enchanter soothed. "Though I believe we should prepare for a Harrowing tonight."  
"Tonight?" the Templar asked.  
"Yes," Irving answered, glancing down at the note once more, "she's ready."


	4. Trials and Lies

_Rain was falling steadily, drenching her robes and filling her shoes. Anyia gazed about the garden, watching the place slowly flood. She wasn’t sure when she sensed the presence beside her, but once she looked Cullen stood with her. He glanced down at her and his smile was slightly crooked and completely endearing. His hair was so much darker when wet and she noticed water droplets clinging to his lashes. He didn’t speak. Neither of them did. They just openly stared at one another, studying the small details of each others faces. Even though the moment was ripe for a kiss, it still surprised her when he gently took her chin in his fingers and lowered his lips to hers. Such a chaste sweet kiss, but it hinted at so much passion held tightly in check, that it made her toes curl up inside her sodden socks. She feathered her fingertips against his jaw, and she both felt and heard him whimper with suppressed desire. They pulled apart slightly, each panting and staring at each other before the most curious thing happened. Quite suddenly he grasped her by the shoulders and began shaking her rather roughly._

Anyia groaned as she opened her eyes. The room was dark about her, and her mind was still foggy. She pinched her eyes shut for a second. It had been a dream; only a dream, but such a delicious one. It took her a moment to realize that someone had in fact shaken her awake. Knight-Captain Samuel was crouched next to her bunk, one hand on her shoulder. She stared at him, frantically blinking the sleep from her eyes.

It had happened, just as she predicted it would. Faron wasn't to be found in any of the dormitories that night, but it appeared the Templars planned to take revenge for him.

“Senior Apprentice Anyia,” he whispered, "the First Enchanter summons you. You must come with me."

She felt her stomach drop to her knees. Oh, not revenge then; something infinitely more deadly. There was only one reason why the Knight-Captain would awaken her in the middle of the night- the Harrowing was upon her. She finally sat and had to push her head between her knees for a few breaths. She wasn’t ready! There was still so much she needed to learn, and now she was out of time. Her hands shook as she quickly dressed, her lip caught between her teeth. Perhaps it might've been better if Faron's cronies had come for her tonight; rather than a Harrowing summons.

Her mind was racing as the Knight-Captain led her higher and higher up the Tower, past the dining hall and practice rooms, into the domain of the Templar’s- a place all mages feared to go. She tried to make sure to take a last look at each floor, just in case… just in case things ended badly. There had been a number over the years who had never returned from the Harrowing. She tried to keep the memories of Joyclyn from her mind, but she’d never seen the woman again. And no one would ever tell her what had happened. Anyia fidgeted nervously with her sleeves; her ragged nails catching on loose threads. Her stomach was in knots as she also thought of Cullen and Evelina and Jowen. If things went badly, she’d never see any of her friends again.

Anyia knew the Tower to be vast, but it still shocked her how quickly they reached the ante-chamber. Her thoughts so scattered, she barely remembered anything from their walk. She could taste panic in her mouth, and knew she was close to tears. Samuel paused a second, and looked at her.

“Breathe,” he chided gently, and Anyia suddenly realized she’d been holding hers. She took deep breaths, and could feel her fear slowly ebb away from her.

“Better?” he asked and once again silently assessed her. “Are you ready?”

“Not really,” she shook her head.  
He nodded once. "They often claim they never are. Don't forget to keep breathing," he said and gestured them onward. The doors to the Harrowing chamber were like most others in the Tower, enormous; but also easily managed by a single person. She’d never learned what charm did this, and now she might never.

The topmost floor of the Tower, the infamous Harrowing Chamber, was just one giant room, cold and dark, with edges that were lost in deep shadows. Anyia spotted Irving and felt yet another sliver of fear slide into her belly. The First Enchanter had been present at most of the important moments of her life. It was right that he would be here for this. Still, after then events of the day, she was still rather anxious of what he'd say. To her surprise, Irving patted her shoulder, trying to be reassuring. Yet even he could not completely hide the worry in his eyes. Anyia looked around at the others who were gathered. It seemed that she and Irving were the only mages, the rest being Templars. Cullen stood among them, his face ashen and queasy. He was staring into the middle distance as though he’d seen a ghost. Anyia tried to catch his eye, but he appeared lost in his own nightmare.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," the Knight Commander Gregoire intoned severely as he approached. "Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the mages of the Tevinter Imperium, who had brought the world to the brink of annihilation. You're magic is a gift, but it is also a curse." He was pacing before her, his expression stern. "For demons of the Fade are drawn to your power and would seek to use you as a gateway to enter this world."

Anyia sighed, all this she knew. It had been drilled into the apprentices from the first days they arrived at the Tower. Almost as soon as her blood had been taken for her phylactery, they had explained to her the danger she posed to herself and everyone else. As if she hadn’t been keenly aware already.

"This is why the Harrowing exists, child," Irving said to her. She turned to look at him curiously. They all knew of the Harrowing test, but none would say what had transpired. Simply that it was your right of passage. The ominous tone in Irving's voice did not quell her fears. "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you must face a demon, armed with only your will."

Anyia felt as though her stomach had turned to ice inside her. Her mouth fell open and she gaped in horror at the First Enchanter. She'd never entered the Fade alone before, at least, not consciously! To face a demon! Was she even able to take on such a foe? Any other time she’d gone there it had been with the aid of an Enchanter, to practice spell craft.  
"And," her voice was small for her mouth was suddenly dry, "what happens if I cannot defeat this demon?"  
"It will turn you into an abomination and the Templar's will be forced to slay you," Gregoire told her. Anyia wondered if he didn't sound a little cheered at the prospect.

This was it? This was why so many had never returned. Small wonder when they were thrown unarmed to battle such a creature!

"The Harrowing is made secret out of necessity child," Irving was speaking again. "Every mage must endure this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you. Remember the Fade is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real. Keep your wits about you," he tried to pass on last minute advice and encouragement.

"The apprentice must face this test alone Irving," Gregoire barked. He looked down at Anyia a moment, "You are ready."

She had noticed a font in the center of the chamber, but had given no thought to it earlier. The Knight Commander indicated she should approach with a wave of his hand. "This is lyrium, the very essence of magic."

Anyia could see the silver blue liquid shimmering there. It looked neither powerful nor frightening, yet she knew of the untold power within. After her own experience she understood why it was something saved for the Senior Enchanters. Lyrium was magic given lasting form. With the use of lyrium, anyone, mage or not, could do magic.

"What do I do?" she very nearly whispered.  
"Take some in your hands child," Irving told her, "and when you are ready, inhale the fumes slowly. I will then be able to send you."  
Anyia nodded her head fractionally. It would be foolish to say she wasn't frightened. To enter a realm she'd never consciously been before, to face a foe far more powerful than herself? It seemed like suicide. Perhaps an easier test would be to simply jump from the top of the Tower and see if she survived the crash! But, all the mages in the Tower had passed through this very test. They had triumphed, so it could be done. She tried not to think about all the others, like Joyclyn, who had never returned. No, she tried to tell herself, she would be one of the survivors!

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

Anyia grunted as her feet struck the ground, or when her mind told her that’s what was happening. She knew that it was her mind that traveled this distorted place; her body was still within the Harrowing chamber. Most likely it was engaged in that disquieting spiral dance she’d seen the senior mages affecting. She placed a hand to her stomach and tried to focus on something other than the slight wavering that she could see from the corner of her eyes. The first lesson of Fade travel was to find something lasting to use as an anchor. Anyia closed her eyes and focused on her heart beat. Even though it had quickened with her nervousness, it was a reminder of her corporeal heart that kept her alive in the mortal realm.

Once settled, she set off at a brisk pace. The sooner she began, the sooner she could leave! The path was winding and she almost tripped over something, for she was gazing at the blurry image of a city, both far away and yet deceptively close.

“Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever,” a voice near her feet spoke.  
She blinked to see a dun colored mouse peering up at her. She could see no other creature, and since this was the Fade it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility to meet a talking animal.  
“It isn’t right that they do this, the Templars, not to you, me, anyone” the creature continued.  
“Perhaps,” she replied, trying to appear calm. “But there’s nothing for it. I’m here now and I must succeed, right or not.”  
“Oh you say that now. So have many others before you. Look at what can happen. It’s always the same. But it’s not your fault. You’re in the same boat I was, aren’t you?” the animal continued. The mouse laughed before it shuddered, its form curling inward as it grew, realigned and shaped itself into a man. The process looked remarkably painful in her opinion.  
“Allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me well… Mouse,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at the display of power, her skin crawling slightly. “The Fade is an illusion, proffered with a lie.” She heard Kevarn’s voice in her mind. “Never trust what you are shown. Never trust what you are told, for both will deceive you.”  
“Not your real name I take it,” she merely said.  
The man shook his head, and his expression was so forlorn that she felt a twinge of sympathy. “No, I … I don’t remember anything from before. The Templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They assume you failed and they don’t want something getting out. That’s what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim and you don’t have much time before you end up the same.”  
Anyia frowned at him a second. Something was wrong, though it was hard to say what. She couldn’t tell if it was him, his words or perhaps the very essence of where she stood. It felt as though her flesh was trying to crawl off her own form, and she shuddered a bit.  
“How long do I have exactly?” she checked over her shoulders, as if she might see the dreaded sword poised just above her neck.  
“I don’t remember,” Mouse admitted. “I ran and hid; I don’t know how long.”  
She sighed. Well, this creature was just full of helpfulness. “What is it I’m supposed to do here? They said I was to face a demon, but they gave no instruction how.”  
Mouse nodded. “Yes, there’s something here, contained, just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the demon and resist it. That’s your way out, or your opponents, if the Templars wouldn’t kill you,” he snarled.  
Anyia blinked. His face the second before had looked… looked nearly demonic itself.  
“Resist?” she mused, more to herself.  
“You fight.”  
“Obviously,” she rolled her eyes. “But anything can die; resistance is more than brutish meeting of fists.”  
“You would be a fool to simply attack everything you see. What you face is powerful, cunning,” he continued being encouraging and optimistic. “I’ll follow, if that’s alright. My test was long ago, but you might have a chance.”  
She watched him shift back into his rodent form and frowned. Something was wrong about him, but she wasn’t about to go spouting her suspicions like a simpleton. Even if Mouse’s intentions weren’t sinister, she would take his warning about cunning to heart.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

She smirked to herself. Though Mouse gave her the creeps, he certainly was a font of information about spirits and this region of the Fade. Perhaps too knowledgeable? It was hard to say.  
“Why would they send us here so unprepared like this?” she asked aloud. It wasn’t a real question, not a proper one that needed an answer. Just a thought sent out into the ether.  
“Because they’re sadistic bastards,” her companion snarled. “They take you at your weakest and throw you to the wolves, all in the name of protecting you. If you are strong enough to resist now, you can do it easily anytime.”  
Unfair as the situation was, she had a moment of understanding. Mages were always vulnerable, and nevermore so than when they slept. Though it was wrong, it was still the most effective way to test whose sleep could be trusted and whose not.  
The man called Mouse had been speaking, though her thoughts had been far afield. As she focused her attention back at him, once again she caught the sight of something demonic about his features.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

She watched as Mouse and the Sloth demon worked, and her own mind was frantically busy. With Valor’s staff and a spirit bear, she had a chance of success. And yet, that feeling of wrongness wouldn’t leave her. She’d been consciously to the Fade before, though never for this long. The twitching, half whispers, eyes-on-her sensation was nothing new, but she’d never felt anything so pervasively wrong in her life. It was something oily and cloying. Like rot and refuse and bile, actually like the thoughts of them, their intention and not their solid form.

Anyia flicked her eyes about, seeking the source of this feeling. She hadn’t forgotten a demon was hunting her, and she needed to do something about that soon. Yet, her gaze was ever drawn back to Mouse. She knew something about him was off; he obviously wasn’t being completely truthful, but that could hardly explain the aversion she felt in her gut.

She stared down at the fingers in her lap, allowing her gaze to soften as she traced threads of gold and blue. She could feel a grin tug at her cheek. Blue had always been her favorite color, even before she’d put on her first apprentice robes. A shame that she’d never wear the shade again, once she was granted the yellow of the under-mages. Well, that was if she managed to defeat her hunter. Slowly Anyia blinked, staring at her skirt. It was blue… just like every other apprentice wore. Suddenly a very cold sensation started at the back of her skull and trickled down her spine like ice water. Her breathing sped and a bead of horror began growing in her belly as she recited under her breath.

_“Blue for the student, diligent may she ever be,_  
_Yellow for the Harrowed, sunny now is she,_  
_Drab to go a-traveling, for the road is ever dusty,_  
_Vine-berry for the Tranquil, both dutiful and trusty,_  
_Red for your betters, earned through trial-by-fire,_  
_Green for the First among us, a seat to which we all aspire.”_

It was a silly little rhyme she learned during her first days after coming to the Tower. They said it something to help the children make sense of the strange new world. Just a silly little nursery rhyme, for a child. Anyia swallowed a gasp quickly, nearly gagging, and cut her eyes over to Mouse. Even in the leeched world, his robes blazed brilliant scarlet. She looked away quickly now almost certain. Mages were creatures of habit, even if he’d come here ages ago, it’s unlikely the mages had changed their color hierarchy since then. Still, did that mean anything? Both he and sloth had said that their forms weren’t necessarily their own. They were the expressions of their will. But why would an apprentice choose to show himself in the robes of a Senior Enchanter? She frowned, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Suspicion alone could not be her master; she needed to be certain before she acted.  
“Think!" she commanded herself.

This was the Fade. Her mind had come here, and had chosen how she would appear. It had chosen her apprentice garments; because that was the truth, she was still an apprentice. It would be vanity and hubris to pretend otherwise.  
… vanity and hubris… vanity and hubris… hubris… pride!

A vain creature would hardly care about hiding, would they? No, a vain creature would have greeted her in a form twice the size of the sloth demon. But a creature of pride- a spirit of pride- wouldn’t be able to keep from showing off its power would it? Would a demon of pride be capable of such subtlety? Pride didn’t necessarily lend itself to such cunning. The simplest way would be to confront him, but that would also be stupid in the extreme. Demons, the truly dangerous one, were subtle. The deadliest enemy was the one that sidled up next to you, and smiled sweetly as they killed you. And demons were the deadliest of enemies. The demon hunting her would be a fool to leave her so long. Surely it could see she was preparing herself for battle. If her pursuer had meant to defeat her by might it would have attacked by now. This was a deadlier enemy that led her toward a more crushing defeat. And pride could certainly be counted as a deadly enemy.

Strength of magic mattered little in this place. Here she would always be outmatched by the spirits. But Irving had said her will was real. Her will came from her mind, from her own self. Yes she was talented clever mage, but… but if she hadn’t learned the rhymes of childhood so well, she might’ve been led to her death. Remembering the innocent days of childhood, how powerless she’d been when she’d begun might help keep her safe. All mages, all people started from nothing, and she was no exception.  
“You look unwell,” Mouse said as he approached.  
Now that her eyes were truly open, Anyia could nearly see the deception licking off him like wisps of oily black smoke.  
“Just anxious about facing my adversary,” she said.  
“We should hurry,” he commented. “You don’t want to become trapped here, like me.”  
Anyia shuddered at the thought. “Agreed, let’s be done with this.”  
They hurried back to the arena and she could see a creature of fire crawling up through the fabric of the world.  
“And there is a spirit of rage,” the bear shaped creature whispered to her.  
“And so it comes to me at last,” he crowed. The heat from the mouth hole was hotter than a blast furnace. “Soon, I shall see the land of the living through your eyes, mortal. You shall be mine, body and soul.”  
Anyia smiled a grim smile. It was certainly possible for her to fail- many others before her had. But it was a comfort to think on those in the chamber who would not allow her to harm the others in the Tower.  
“Even if I fail, the Templars will cut you down,” she said.  
“They are welcome to try!” he screamed at her. “So this creature is your offering, Mouse? Another plaything as per our arrangement.”  
Mouse bared his bear-like teeth. “I’m not offering you anything! I don’t have to help you anymore!”  
“Aw, and after all those meals we have shared? Now suddenly the mouse has changed the rules?” the rage demon taunted.  
Anyia snarled at him at the thought of Joyclyn. Her own rage barely held in check.  
“I’m not a mouse now,” her companion spit back. “And soon I won’t have to hide! I don’t need to bargain with you.”  
“We shall see,” the rage demon threatened and summoned a swarm of wisps.  
Anyia smiled to herself slightly as her knuckles whitened on Valor’s staff. Her mentors knew her well when they trained her in elemental magicks. She felt her own anger ignite in her stomach at the thought of Joyclyn and who knew how many others. Only, her anger wasn’t red hot and explosive. No, ever since the incident in her youth, Anyia had always felt her rage expressed through stillness and a freeze so cold it burned.

Again and again she unleashed her frozen fury on the demon and its thralls before he bent so far backwards, he looked ready to snap in half. With an anguished cry it expired and fell to the ground before dissolving. Anyia leaned heavily against her staff, she hadn’t realized how desperately she’d been fighting until now, when the exhaustion was pressing on her skull like a vise.  
Mouse shifted back into his human form, and approached. His face was ablaze with savage delight, an almost hysterical glee. “You did it. You actually did it. When you came, I hoped that you might be able to… but I never really thought any of you were worthy.  
She gave him a long look and began steeling herself for another fight. “Sounds like your help was unusual,” she said. “Why?” Anyia knew she was too spent to straight out attack him. Better first to get him talking and try to recover her strength.  
“You made me believe. You’re a true mage, one of the few,” he said simply, and the look he gave her was as close to adoration as she’d ever seen.  
It was a potent thing, and evoked a surprising reaction. Like a punch from the headiest of wines, it was almost overwhelming. But she clenched her fist and pressed her nails into her palm. Joyclyn’s face flashed through her mind, quicker than lightening and a strange feeling descended onto her; one that was heavy and a bit restricting, but also comforting in its security. She was a mage of the Circle. She would live and die within its walls. She would never know passion or motherhood, but the apprentices to come would be her children. She would never do great deeds, but the task of guiding future mages would be great indeed. And when they laid her to rest within the Tower crypts, it would be a life well lived, and she was happy with that thought.  
“The others, they never had a chance. The Templars set them up to fail, like they tried with you. I regret my part in it,” he hung his head in a show of penitence. “But you have shown me that there is hope. You can be so much more than you know.”  
She crossed her arms. “What is it you think you can get from me?” she asked.  
He didn’t appear to hear her. Mouse was gesturing grandly, as though he could already see the honors and tributes heaped upon her. “You defeated a demon, you completed your test. With time, you will be a master enchanter with no equal. And perhaps there’s hope in that for someone as small and forgotten as me. If you want to help, there may be a way for me to leave here. You just have to want to let me in.” His voice took on a cadence that was almost pleading and almost seducing.  
“I’m beginning to think that other demon wasn’t my hunter,” she said evenly.  
His eyes flew open in alarm. “What?! What are you talking about? What else could be here to harm an apprentice of your potential?  
“I see you, demon” she said quietly and a bit sadly.  
The look of shock on his face was fleeting, but it was as clear as if he’d been illuminated by the dawn.  
Mouse’ expression hardened as he scowled at her. “Oh, you are cunning,” he hissed.  
She watched as he cast aside his disguise, showing himself exactly as she’d guessed- a demon of Pride. “Simple killing is a warrior’s job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust… pride. Keep your wits about you mage, true tests never end, and yours is just beginning.”  
Anyia could feel a strange weightlessness overcome her, which clashed violently with the roiling of her stomach. The demon had long since left, abandoned her in search of easier prey. She could taste the fear on the back of her tongue. What would happen to her now? How would the others know she’d managed to survive? Her mind was spinning and breathing was becoming difficult as she fought against the faintness clawing at her.

~~~^*^~~~^*^~~~

Darkness took her, no matter how she struggled and it took some minutes before she recognized the sound of voices. One of her eyelids was pried back, and a torch brought close.  
“Well?” she thought it might be Gregoire’s voice.  
“Looks clear,” a different voice replied, she couldn’t place it.  
“Give her the test to be sure,” Gregoire said.  
“That’s hardly necessary,” Irving’s gravelly tone argued.  
“They never pass that fast,” he replied. “At least the honest ones never do. Give her the test.”  
It was a feat just to follow the words; she had no strength or even remembrance of how to speak. Her breathing spiked when she felt a bolt of arcane energy sizzle through her. She could hear where it struck her body and its final impact with the floor.  
“Must be clean,” a gruff voice spoke in the following silence.  
“If a demon were there it would’ve defended itself.” The voice was so very gentle and tinged with profound relief. It could’ve been Cullen’s voice, but her eyes remained shut and she too tired to fight to open them.  
“She’s passed, Gregoire. Let us leave it at that,” her mentor sounded like he might cry.  
“Hrm,” the Knight Commander grunted. “So it seems. Take her back.”  
There was no telling who he addressed, and no time to ponder as a gentle pair of hands gingerly lifted her from the frigid floor. It was only then, as the darkness pressed back in on her, that she noticed she was freezing. 

**Author's Note:**

> An un-beta'd piece that has somewhat stalled. Hopefully uploading will help reignite some inspiration.


End file.
